The Picture of a Cow

The old car, which, upon going with the current number of family members, was a little roomy for the ride, though ideal for Christmas shopping, would soon be a family car again, and would never complain of too light a load of flesh. And the windows wouldn't be starved for conversation on a road trip of an hour or more ever again. Because today was the day the little Boy was to meet his new daddy.

"How come you haven't asked if we're there yet?" his mother asked with the wisp of a smile.

"We're still moving, aren't we?"

The mother laughed. The Boy always had a grip on any situation he wished to be involved with. The driving wasn't nearly so tiring since she had the new CD player installed and the complete Pink Floyd collection kept her entertained for the long hours. Night was rising as day fell and the little Boy found it harder and harder to make out the animated blur which excited him beyond the darkening window. The green started to become old hills with no substance and the tall stalks of grass and mounds of ant hills and red clay along the road seemed to merge into a two, three, four, mile-long vegetable mud pie, with no hope of there ever being a slice missing.

Tired of this, the Boy started roaming the fields with his eyes, to catch whatever the light could hang on to. Except for a tractor in a deserted stretch of aging corn, nothing could reflect the Boy's excitement. Except for the picture of a cow grazing in a clump of young pine trees. There it was - eating. It was the first time the Boy had seen a picture eating and he was entranced.

"I gotta go!" the little Boy yelled out.

"Now? Can't we wait until the next -?" his mother started.

"Please, mom!"

She stopped the car, before the clump of trees was completely passed. The Boy jumped out of the hatch-back in a rage of pleasure his mother had only ever seen directly after trick-or-treating or directly before summer vacation. The mother thought nothing more of it than a strange, sudden reaction to something from a fast food place on the road. After a few minutes when the little Boy didn't return, the mother went beyond the trees to look for him. But he was no-where to be found. Growing desperate, she continued to look until night finally fell with severe indifference.

She called and called his name but he wouldn't answer. Or couldn't, she thought; becoming the obvious pessimist as all mothers do in times of worry.

Frantic, she drove to the next town, straight to the police department (here called the Sheriff's Office) and filed a missing person's report. Normally such procedures would require a 24 hour period before law enforcers would be required (or even allowed) to act on any such petition. But the Sheriff being a very easy going fellow, and with no significant work load providing competition for his time, he and two of his deputies allowed a small-scale search to take place.

They searched most of the night and found nothing. They covered almost a square mile of the sight where the Boy had been lost. But there were no clues, also. The Boy just seemed to have vanished.

"Thousands of kids are lost every year, Mrs. --" the Sheriff explained with compassion. However at this stage of fear, the mother could read nothing with compassion. It only sounded like a cue to give up. Indeed, the Sheriff said there was nothing else that could be done until light. "Why don't you sleep at the office tonight. Nothing will get past you, you'll be the first to know if --". It was the if she was most afraid of. She yelled and begged for them not to give up. He's probably just hurt himself and is crawling around somewhere near here, she told herself.

They all went back to the Sheriff's Office. The Sheriff, to try to give her a little more peace, mentioned that he'd be launching a full-scale search in the morning, when the people (including volunteers) would be available.

"Do you have kids, Sheriff?" the mother asked and he replied "no"; then she went to sleep on the office couch. Not as much from want of sleep, but too much exhaustion. During the night, visions of child-abductors, child-abusers, and child-molesters invaded her private memories and put deformed strangers into forgotten family events, like the taking of a photograph and pasting in another inserted smiler incriminating a lewd member of the clergy. Finally night broke, like a heavy fever, into day, and the mother awoke to an empty office. She asked the lady typing at the desk-computer if they'd all gone out looking already.

"Looking?" the secretary asked. "If you mean all down at town hall, yeah. Mayor's unveiling some kind of old Restoration painting recently acquired for the museum. And -" But the mother was gone from the building. She didn't stop to ask herself if the Sheriff and his deputies already knew the daily grind they would have to perform this day. She almost let the thought enter her head, but when the turn of key sounded her engine, new hope revved in her, and she again traveled to the green fields from which this tragic event started.

She searched in every conceivable place, barn, haystack, shaded weed patch, and plow field, calling the Boy's name with the passion of spurned love. The tiring adventure accomplished nothing and only served to pass such horrible hours until the Sun became hungry and shifted its weight to await lunch. The mother had cared little for food, or anything else, during a frantic time. But now, by automatic response, she entered her car and started slowly down the highway, entertaining quiet thoughts of suicide at times when Hope left her alone. In such a miserable state, it's amazing that she should have paid attention to any sight at all, but something mysterious (a fleeting hope high in the sky) caused her to look up. Up at a billboard, resting peaceably beneath a telephone pole's tall head. It was an advertisement for Milk, which pictured a cow being followed by a little boy drinking milk. And it was the Boy! If it wasn't for the daylight, she never would seen him at all. The amazement didn't stop her from yelling out the Boy's name with every shred of vocal tissue left to her. But nothing happened.

Except for the crackle of paper. This meant nothing to the mother. She didn't even notice. She yelled that she loved the Boy. Suddenly the sky became green, as if a giant hand was doing a Godly magic trick over the globe. More and more dark green it became. And out of the murky, cloudless sky, a voice boomed, "You may have one wish, and only one. Wish wisely."

"Give me my son back!" the mother screamed. Magically and almost immediately the paper Boy was stripped from the billboard, as if by the hand of God himself, and was placed in her car. The mother, not able to comprehend the situation, yelled, "My boy is made of paper!" "I told you to wish wisely," the voice boomed again, then laughed. And the laugh thundered the sky.

"Is this a test? What have I done? Have I answered correctly? Tell me!"

Through the laughter, the mother could only make out two sentences: "Don't attach so much importance to any of it. Now you'll be able to send your boy to college for the cost of two stamps!" and the echoes of hilarity drifted back into the sky.

The Boy asked if they could stop for a hamburger because he'd grown very hungry waiting for his discovery. His mother simply rolled her Boy up, and gave him a smirk showing her intense disapproval, and put him in the front seat so that she could keep her eye on him. They drove on. And drove on. And drove. They still had many hours and miles to conquer. And the CD player remained silent, since the only dialogues were mental monologues, he: seeing the paper forest rush by as if trying to wave their leaves good-bye and thinking about the smiling cow miles back; she: wondering how to explain it all to Tom. As they streamed west keeping up with the parting blue and green division of sky quickly vanishing into the former's favor.